Discord
by Meepy
Summary: 7. He hates being in love. — DellxLily drabble collection.
1. Wager

**A/N:**

I know this pairing is really. . . not a thing (despite how much I'd like it to be), but hey, if you're already here, I implore you give it a chance!

**Summary:** "I've never had the urge to stick a gun down a girl's mouth until now."

* * *

Her golden locks flowed freely out of the helmet; honestly, she didn't care if she got paint in it. Sure, her hair made it easier for the enemies to spot her, but Lily deemed it as something that enhanced the experience of the game. It gave her a certain adrenaline rush, more so than usual, knowing that perhaps she had a larger target on her back than others. She kept her head low and eyes wide open, her fingers clenched and ready to pull the trigger on her paintball gun if need be.

It was a simple elimination game with the players split into two teams. One hit and you're out; last team standing wins.

Lily had already managed to mark three people and she was definitely not going to let herself get shot now.

Just as she was thinking that, she felt someone grab her arm. Startled, her gun fell out of her hands. She cursed under her breath. To make matters worse, her assailant kicked it off to the side and out of grabbing range. The next thing she knew, she felt the end of a rifle pressed against her temple. "What the hell!" Lily exclaimed.

"Scream and I'll shoot," a low voice threatened. Her eyes darted towards the perpetrator; the paintball mask he wore prevented her from identifying the man. Lily didn't recognize his voice, either. This person definitely wasn't one of her friends. Her friend's friend, then? What kind of people were they associating themselves with?

The man pulled her close to his body, his free arm wrapping around her neck. She flailed her arms and kicked her legs, trying to escape from his clutches. It was ultimately unsuccessful in the end; surprisingly, though, his grip didn't hurt her. Still, she didn't want to be in this position at all, considering his paintball marker was uncomfortably close to her head. "Headshots ain't allowed, asshole," Lily muttered.

Disregarding her comment, her captor started walking. She struggled to keep up with his pace. "Seriously—like, what _is_ this?" Lily demanded.

"What?" he drawled. "If I got you, I can easily win this. Your team's not going to want to shoot you, are they, Goldilocks?"

"It's Lily," she informed him instinctively.

"Don't care, Goldilocks."

Now that he mentioned it, though, Lily realized that this man kept her in front as he moved, while trying to keep his back against walls, trees and whatever else could provide cover.

"This is so fucking stupid," she grumbled. "Shithead, it ain't gonna work. What the hell's wrong with you? Like, what the fuck."

"Wow, I've never had the urge to stick a gun down a girl's mouth until now," he muttered, pushing the end of his gun against the side of her head again.

"I'm sure you've never had the chance to stick _anything_ down a girl's mouth before," Lily scoffed.

"No, I'm just too much of a gentleman."

She shouted, "You were just threatening to shove a fucking gun in my mouth!"

"But I didn't _actually_, did I?" he replied.

"Then by that logic, I must be a perfect lady 'cause I'm not kicking you in the balls right now!"

"Maybe I'd agree if you did something about your language."

"Fuck you," she hissed. "My team's gonna shoot you to oblivion."

"Not without hitting you too, they aren't," he pointed out.

Lily huffed, "Don't care. As long as you don't win, I'm good."

"Except I'm not going to lose."

"Wanna bet?" she exclaimed impulsively.

"No."

"What are you, _chicken?_" she taunted childishly, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out as she spoke.

"What are you, _five?_" he returned swiftly.

Ignoring him, Lily continued, "Money is always a good bet. But I'd prefer to do something a little more interesting, y'know?"

"No."

"Huh, my mind is blanking. Let's say money for now. We could change it later?" she suggested.

"If I said yes, would you shut up?" the man grumbled.

She would've shrugged her shoulders if she could. So she opted for a drawn-out, "Maaaybe" instead.

"Fine, whatever, yes," he complied.

Lily grinned. Keeping her mouth shut, she happily adhered to his conditions. There was _no_ way that he could win the bet. He was not making it out of this game unscathed, oh no. At least this way, she was going to get something out of it.

* * *

She wasn't sure how long they were together for, but it was certainly a while. Long enough for him to shoot four of her teammates, much to her chagrin. It seemed that his plan was actually working; some of her teammates were startled to see her with the enemy. Even if they were not on point for just a second, it was still long enough for her captor to mark them.

Just then, he pulled her to the side and behind a tree. Raising his paintball gun, he pulled the trigger once. He landed a direct hit on his target's chest with only one hand. There goes number five.

"Huh, you're actually kinda really good," Lily complimented slowly.

He was silent for a moment before asking, "Is this what they call Stockholm syndrome?"

"It's called, 'flattery is supposed to get you everywhere,'" she muttered. "And I'd like to not be in your arms right now, y'know?"

"Consider yourself lucky, Goldilocks; I've got tons of girls lining up, wanting to be in my arms."

"Your mom doesn't count," she sneered.

"No, but yours certainly does."

Lily immediately opened her mouth to retort, then closed it almost as quickly. She couldn't think of a good comeback. She grimaced; well played. Not unexpected though, since she had started the whole "your mom" thing in the first place. Still, she wasn't happy that he had gotten the last word.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of several paint splats. She peered at her captor from the corner of her eyes. Someone must've shot him from behind while he had his guard down temporarily.

Pulling away from him swiftly, Lily ran, not even trying in the slightest to contain her laughter.

* * *

After all that was said and done, her team had won. Unfortunately, Lily hadn't made it unscathed to the end. Which wasn't surprising in the least, considering the fact that she was running around weaponless. She exited the forest grounds where the game was held, chatting with a couple of her teammates. "Awesome game, guys!" the girl praised, giving them a thumbs up. It certainly was one of the most interesting games she had participated in, at the very least.

Taking her helmet off, Lily ran her fingers through her now-freed hair. Felt good.

"Hey, Goldilocks."

Lily turned her head towards the sound of the voice. The sound of her (ex-)captor's voice.

He held onto his mask loosely with his right hand, left arm relaxed. His silver-grey hair was pulled up in a short ponytail and his eyes were a piercing, crimson red.

It pained her to even think it, but damn, he was quite attractive. She wasn't exactly sure how much of this was attributed to the banter they shared or his actual appearance, though. Admittedly, the time they spent was pretty entertaining. It had ignited a certain _something_ in her stomach too—something Lily deemed as disgust and nausea from his annoyance at first, but now she wasn't so sure anymore.

"It's _Lily_," she reiterated. She crossed her arms under her chest, looking at him expectantly.

He was quiet for a moment before saying, "I'm Dell?"

Lily shook her head. "No. I mean, you lost."

"I know. That's why I'm talking to you," he replied irritatedly.

She blinked. Ah, she didn't think that he'd actually go through with the bet in the end, especially since he didn't win. He hardly seemed like the type, considering he had _held her hostage_.

"I'm insulted," he muttered.

"What? I didn't even say anything!" she exclaimed.

"No, but your face says everything," Dell answered. "I'm a man of my word, just so you know."

"All right, _sure_." She paused for a moment, thinking. Slowly, Lily continued, "You lost, so you're taking me out to dinner, Dell," she demanded; free food was always good, right? She watched him through narrowed eyes, examining his facial expression. It hardly changed; no, wait, he seemed almost amused.

"A date?" he repeated, eyebrows raised. "Doesn't seem like much of a loss."

She flashed him a toothy grin. "Wait until you see how much I eat."

"Oh, how flattering."

"You really don't seem like the type to care if a girl eats a lot," Lily observed.

"I don't, but I care about my money," he answered simply, the edges of his lips quirking up ever so slightly, almost like he didn't _really_ want to smile—but he certainly couldn't hide the smile she saw in his eyes.

She laughed in return.

It'd certainly be an interesting story to tell, at the very least—"We first met when he was holding me hostage during a game of paintball."

* * *

**A/N:**

What is proper development? orz

I don't know where this idea came from; it's incredibly silly, but I kinda enjoyed writing it. So I hope you enjoyed reading it too? Maybe?


	2. Intoxication

**A/N:**

Yes, my mission is just to convert a person or two to this pairing. If I can achieve that, all is good.

**Summary:** Waking up in the morning next to a stranger is never a good thing.

* * *

She was absolutely ecstatic.

She was probably not the type to be working as a business woman at first glance, but it truly was a subject that Lily enjoyed. She knew exactly where to draw the line between a hobby and a career, with her music being the former.

Lily loved marketing. It challenged her and gave her the chance to explore her more creative and analytical side. She also had the opportunity of traveling to many places and meeting new people on a constant basis. It was truly a job suited for her.

Thus, she couldn't be any happier when the call came in after two whole weeks of agonizing anticipation, offering her a position on the marketing committee of one of the big four business firms in her city. She literally jumped for joy, thankful that she had gotten along so well with the woman who had interviewed her. The job was exactly what she wanted; soon, she knew, she would be climbing up the ranks until she was at the very top.

It was certainly one of the best Fridays of her life, yes. In celebration, Lily called up a couple of her friends for an outing. No harm in hitting a club for a night of fun, right? After all, she would have all of Saturday and even Sunday, if need be, to get over any nasty hangovers.

It was a night filled with music, dancing and, of course, booze.

* * *

There were many things wrong when Lily opened her eyes the next morning.

Problem one: her head was pounding like crazy. It felt like someone was mercilessly bringing a hammer to her skull every other second. The sunlight seeping in through the window and around the dingy, beige blinds hurt her eyes. God, how much did she drink last night?

Problem two: she had no idea where she was. Well, she was in a bed. That wasn't her bed. Presumably she was in the bed of a sleazy, cheap hotel. She could hardly remember anything from the night before. With a groan, Lily turned onto her side and—

Problem three: she was sharing the bed with someone. Someone that was not one of the friends she had gone out with the night before. Someone that was a man. A man she didn't recognize.

Well, maybe nothing happened. Maybe they were just sleeping in the same bed together for some reason, with absolutely no touching. Maybe she was just jumping to conclusions and—

Problem four: she was naked.

God, _how much did she drink last night?_

"Oh, _fuck_ me," she moaned in exasperation.

"I think I already did," Lily heard a voice say. Her eyes narrowed at the red pair that stared back at her, strands of silver mussed over.

"Don't _sass_ me," she hissed, pulling at the end of the man's pillow. "Fucking pervert, you're disgusting."

Sitting upright, the man leaned against the headboard as he replied simply, "That's not what you said last night."

"_Gross_," she blanched, her face contorting to express such distaste.

"That's not what you said last—"

"You're _horrible!_"

"That's not what you said—"

"Ugh, stop!"

"That's not what you—"

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, effectively tugging away the pillow from underneath the man and whacking him in the face with it. If that did not wipe that annoyingly amused smirk off of his face, she had no idea what would. Retracting her arms, she was met with a scowl. Lily wasn't quite sure how much better that was. At least he didn't react much beyond that, though. She continued, clearly agitated, "God, this is the worst!"

"Stop acting like you're the victim," the man grumbled, interrupting her predictable upcoming tirade of complaints, as his hands absentmindedly groped around for something on the bedside. A moment later he had a cigarette to his lips and a lighter in hand.

"It's not like I asked for this either," he pointed out, lighting the stick.

"Oh yeah? You sure act like you did," she spat, rolling her eyes.

"Shit, can you keep your voice down?" He grimaced, blowing a puff of smoke. She scrunched her nose in disgust. He muttered, "God, _that_ is annoying and definitely not helping my headache."

He looked like absolute hell, she noted; baggy eyes and disheveled hair. But even if he was super model gorgeous, Lily was certain that he'd still look like hell to her, all things considered. But her appearance was probably similar to his too.

She sneered, voice raising, "No, fuck you."

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes.

But his statement also brought her attention back to her own killer headache. It had temporarily slipped her mind when he had come into her view, flooding her with anger. Now she could only say that the pain was back and so much worse, since it was such a nightmare dealing with this man.

"You know what? I am so done with this," Lily informed the stranger. She rolled out of the small bed, holding onto the blanket to cover her body. She didn't dare look behind; no, she definitely didn't want to see his bare body. "I don't need _this_, unlike you. Dammit, this really _is_ the worst. Just got the offer and everything and then this! _This!_ This was not what I wanted at all!"

She quickly picked up her underwear from the ground and slipped the articles of clothing on as fast as possible, the blanket held close so not to expose anything.

"I'm just going to pretend this never happened. Yeah, that's right; nothing happened here. You better have paid for all of this last night. If not, you're paying for it now," she ordered, throwing the sheet back onto him. Grabbing the remaining pieces of clothing and her purse from off the ground, she glared at her company. Lily jeered, "Don't call me, I'll call you."

She swiftly exited the room before he could retort. Thankfully, the hallway was empty. There, she redressed herself. Now fully clothed, Lily opened her purse to make sure her cellphone and wallet were still there. After verifying the contents of her bag, she left the establishment.

Well, at least that was over with. Now she just had to wipe it completely from her memory and do her best to cure her hangover. Hopefully her friends, wherever they were, wouldn't question her about the night. Lily knew, at least, that she wouldn't be asking them for details about what had transpired in order to lead up to. . . _that_.

Come Monday, though, she could just forget about it all.

* * *

Lily couldn't believe how wrong she was when she showed up to work the following Monday.

It was at that moment that she swore off alcohol for good, simultaneously wondering why God and the world hated her so much, when she discovered that _he_ was her boss.

* * *

**A/N:**

Because they totally would have a one night stand.

Something short, nothing really special. And I know it's totally continuable, but I don't really have plans to do so, at least not at the moment. But we'll see, since I guess this is kinda pointless otherwise (besides me just making Lily's life suck; I hope this won't be a pattern).


	3. Kissing Boxes

**Summary:** It takes ten years for him to realize she is more than just the girl with the stupid flowery box.

* * *

He is five and she is five.

"Why don't you go and play with the neighbour girl, instead of that box?" his mother asks, looking down at him as she carefully cuts a carrot.

He pouts and shakes his head, crawling under his cardboard box and around the kitchen floor.

His mother sighs. "At least go outside?"

"Fine," he grumbles and he opens the door and leaves, his box in hand. On the sidewalk he gets under his box again and crawls around. He stops when he presumably bumps into a wall. He hesitates and raises the cardboard up slightly so he can see; his eyes meet with a pair of sapphire blue.

He removes the box from over him and sits up. A girl stares back at him. There's a box next to her, flowers and hearts scribbled on the side with crayon. His swords and rocket ships are so much cooler, he thinks.

"Your box is stupid," he says.

"Is not!" she shouts. "Yours is!"

"Nuh-_uh_."

She crawls under her box again and he crawls under his. He feels her pushing against him.

"What are you doing?" he calls out.

He hears some rustling and a short giggle. "Box kissing."

His face twists in disgust. "Your box has _cooties_ though."

"Nope! I got a shot!" she informs him, a hint of pride laced in her voice.

Nevertheless, he and his rocket ship box crawl away from her and her flowery box.

* * *

They don't play with boxes anymore.

The toys, puzzles, games and even books are so much more interesting now.

He is eight and she is eight and he pushes her down on the playground, and she pushes back just as hard, sometimes even harder. She laughs and he thinks the stupid flowery box doesn't fit her at all, it's a good thing that it's gone now.

* * *

The attic holds a cardboard box, filled to the brim with the past ten years of his life.

He tears a long strip of tape but hesitates as his eyes fall to the swords, to the rocket ships.

He balls up the tape and throws it to the side.

* * *

It's high school and he's not allowed to push her around anymore. Well, he can—but he shouldn't, so he doesn't. At first she shoves him to the ground, just like before; but slowly, slowly she stops. He feels slightly victorious now because she's a girl and he was never allowed to push back. Which is stupid, he thinks.

Slowly, slowly, he does not see her anymore.

* * *

It takes ten years for him to realize she is more than just the girl with the stupid flowery box.

She's not kissing boxes anymore.

She's kissing boys.

And maybe it's okay that he doesn't push her around anymore and she doesn't push him around anymore because he likes her like this, too.

So it's not fair that he's the one sitting on her porch with her, watching her cry about her latest failed relationship because she shouldn't even be crying in the first place.

"It's gonna be fine," he mumbles and she continues hiccupping.

It's not fair that the only time they talk, really talk, is whenever this happens.

"I mean, you're nice, and pretty, and funny, and smart. Well, kinda smart," he adds offhandedly, looking away from her tear-stained face. "You'll definitely find someone."

And he knows it's vague, incredibly generic, his words, but they are true; he's not sure how to word it, say it, because there is so much to say. He's known her for ten years now and he really knows _her_—how's she's changed, who she is.

"Ha, yeah," she snorts.

"What?" he drawls. And maybe it's not exactly the reaction he wants, but it's better than her sobs.

"It's just." She pauses. "It's just not like something you'd say, y'know?"

"Well, _sorry_," he mutters.

It's silent for a moment.

"Thanks," she mumbles, genuine.

She rubs her eyes and nudges him with her elbow.

He nudges her back.

* * *

There are boxes everywhere. His eyes fall on a certain one, a piece of paper marked, "Clothes" taped on. It covers the hearts, he notices.

He's surprised she still has it.

Then again, he still has his.

It's quiet and they just look at each other.

"So," she starts off.

"So," he repeats.

It's weird because it's inevitable, yet somehow, the thought of her moving has never crossed his mind before. But it's happening now and perhaps sooner than he would like because he still has so much to say, but still no words.

"I'll miss you," he murmurs eventually.

And those words, they both know, are more than enough.

She stares at him and they both just stand there, silent, like they're waiting for one of them to laugh.

No one laughs.

The edge of her lips curl up slightly, not like they usually do, and she says, "Yeah."

* * *

He's alone in the world.

He's taking his first steps into the world, the real world, leaving his parents behind and everyone else he has ever known.

He's alone, but he's ready. He's ready to start anew, just as he's sure she had, one year ago.

It's not easy, they say, but what is? He finds himself drowning in homework and assignments in his first year of post-secondary; it's much more than he had anticipated, he'll admit. His hand falls on a box, fingers clasping a cigarette. He remembers all of the warnings, all of the lectures, but he's an adult now and he can do whatever he wants.

So he brings the stick to his mouth and inhales. His first breath makes him cough and gag. It tastes stronger than it smells and it's absolutely _bitter_, but then again, he never liked sweets in the first place.

It makes him feel lightheaded, and he decides that he prefers that over being heavy-minded.

He takes another breath.

* * *

He is twenty-two, fresh out of university and prepared to start his career. It's about a month before he finally lands his first job, at a moderately sized technology company that is growing exponentially. He predicts in a few years' time they will be key players in the industry.

He arrives at the office for his first day and is greeted by a woman around his age. Golden hair and deep sand eyes.

"Oh, new recruit." She nods, acknowledging his presence.

"Oh, _old_ recruit," he murmurs under his breath.

She shoots him a look, but ultimately decides to ignore the comment. "Welcome to the team," she says, turning on her heel. She gestures for him to follow. As they walk, she points to a few things around the vicinity and explains various rules and regulations.

They arrive in a quaint room, several computers and employees occupying the quarters. She tells him, "Since you're just starting out, you'll be doing quality check. Make sure the code's all good and a hundred percent functional. Nothing too complicated, right? But don't be afraid to ask questions if you have any."

He nods.

"Oh, and if you screw up, I'll skin you alive," she adds, voice low and gaze sharp.

Suddenly, he's reminded of her, the way she'd bat her eyelashes innocently then kick him in the shin a second later.

He smiles, despite himself.

* * *

"I think it's the best. For both of us."

He's heard these words countless times now, more than enough. He bites, hard, into his cigarette.

He is twenty-five and nowhere close to a functioning relationship. At this point, he's lost count of how many times his romantic endeavors have ended in failure. Certainly enough for him to confidently say he's heard every single cliché breakup line in the book.

But he supposes that it's suiting, in this case, that she is the one ending it, just as she was the one who initiated it. It was over two years of light banter in the workplace before she asked him out, then several months of dating. She assured him it wouldn't be awkward, and he hopes that will still be the case, considering all of this.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't think we're on the same page, regarding us," she elaborates. "I feel like you don't really care about me much. And I feel like I can't change your mind about that."

"But I do care about you," he protests.

"No, that's not exactly what I mean. Uh, how do I say this?" She pauses for a second to collect her thoughts, before continuing, "You're just, not really here. Not with me."

He opens his mouth to retort, but he doesn't know what to say.

And he knows it's officially over now.

Her lips form a thin smile. "Well. Bye," she finishes simply.

He watches silently as she turns around, takes a left, and disappears around a corner.

He isn't heartbroken, no. Rather, he is more stunned than anything. His mind is racing, gears turning at a hundred miles per hour as he repeats her words over and over again to himself.

And it dawns on him.

The cigarette falls out of his mouth and he feels like the biggest idiot in the world because it has obviously always, always, _always _been—

* * *

He is twenty-seven and she is twenty-seven.

His workplace asks him to transfer to a new division. He doesn't particularly mind, though; nothing is holding him back here. He impulsively agrees when they tell him where to.

He's just moved into the city, her city, and he wonders if she's still there. It takes him a while to settle down and unpack everything. The box from years ago sits in a corner of his new apartment, untouched. Somehow, he can't bring himself to throw it out.

A few weeks pass and he wonders if he's hearing right because—

Because she's here and he has so much to say to her and he finally has the words.

His fingers tremble as he dials her number. He just hopes he's not too late as he waits for her to pick up the phone, the _ringing_ feeling especially long at that moment.

"Hello?" he hears her voice. It's distorted through the phone, but he could recognize it anywhere. Low, smooth, _her_.

"Hey," he breathes, "it's me."

"Oh."

It's silent for a moment.

"I have something I need to tell you," they simultaneously say.

There's a pause. "Oh. Uhm, you first?" she offers.

"No." He shakes his head, though he knows she's unable to see. "No, I want to tell you in person."

"In person?" she echoes. "What do you mean?"

"I—well, I'm here."

"Here?" He can hear the surprise in her voice.

"Then. Then, do you want to meet at my place?" she suggests slowly, her voice fading with each passing word.

"Yeah, of course," he responds casually, and his heart is beating rapidly in his chest.

Not much else is said as he writes down her address before hanging up. Then again, they never did say much.

・

The next day, he arrives at her doorstep. He rings the doorbell. Shortly after, the door opens and she's there, she's _there_.

After all of these years.

Somehow she's even prettier than he last remembers and he wonders how that is even possible. Her blonde hair is not as long as it used to be, but cut such that it frames her more mature face perfectly. Her eyes, though, are as bright as ever. And she's wearing makeup, just a hint. Not that she's ever needed it, he thinks.

He wonders what she has been doing, the ten years they have been apart. There is just so much for them to talk about.

And he wonders how different she is, how different he is. But through and through, she is still her, he knows.

"Hey, Lily," he says.

She smiles. "Wow, it's been ages! How long are you in town for, Dell?"

"Oh, a while," he answers, the edges of his lips quirking up slightly. "I just moved here."

"That's great! For work?"

He nods.

"What do you do?"

"Programming," he says.

She takes a step back as she notices that he's still waiting outside. "Oh, come in!"

"Wait a sec," he says and he bends down, picking up something from the side.

He holds up a cardboard box, crude drawings of rocket ships and swords all over—and the words, "I've always loved you."

She blinks, holds her index finger up in an "excuse me" and takes a quick step to the side.

She re-emerges shortly after. A cardboard box is in her hands, covering her face—_the _cardboard box.

"I love you," it says in between the crayon hearts and flowers.

* * *

**A/N:**

This one's quite different from the previous two drabbles, but I'm also really happy with it. So I hope y'all enjoyed it! And I'm also really happy that you guys are liking these so far!


	4. Heartache

**A/N:**

It's been a while. I've been writing, but the drabbles haven't exactly been coming along well (or at all).

So, I'll be posting what started it all: my first DellxLily drabbles, that were written as a joke.

And have led us to today.

**Summary:** "Hey, Mr. Nurse, d'you have somethin' for a heartache?"

* * *

She had just realized.

She wasn't entirely sure when it had started, but—

How long? Her head was spinning as she tried to determine when, just when had it all happened? And more importantly, _why?_ Absentmindedly, the blonde found herself stumbling into the school nurse's office.

How ironic.

The silver-haired man didn't even look up from his work when Lily entered. He was much too used to her presence, as he had allowed her to stay in his office whenever she felt like skipping class. Which was quite often.

She blinked, quietly watching as the school nurse pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it with ease. Light grey puffs of smoke slowly escaped his lips. Lily seated herself in one of the patients' chairs, her gaze fixated on Dell. She was incredibly tempted to just kick the cancer stick out of his mouth and stamp on it until it was no more.

The urge increased with each passing puff.

It was never an issue at first. But eventually it just started bothering her, more and more and more and more, as she saw him, more and more and more and more.

. . . It wasn't fair.

Suddenly, Dell turned to face her. She jumped a little in her seat, caught off guard. His eyebrow was raised and Lily could tell by his facial expression alone that he was asking, "What's wrong with you?"

Her expression softened as she tried to determine the meaning of the unspoken words, tried to figure out what to say in response. Finally, she spoke up, her smile melancholy, "Hey, Mr. Nurse, d'you have somethin' for a heartache?"

He pulled the cigarette away from his lips and distinguished it against his desk, tossing it to the ground. The nurse stood up and began rummaging in his drawers. "You're awfully quiet today," he commented.

Lily didn't reply.

Dell turned around after finding what he was looking for. "Hey, chin up," he ordered the student.

She did as she was told, suddenly nervous as he approached. A short moment later, he stood directly in front of her.

—And he placed a band-aid on her forehead.

Lily blinked.

She wasn't exactly surprised. It was typical; it was how he treated any and every ailment (he wasn't a nurse, she never saw him as a nurse).

She cast her gaze to the ground. She found herself staring at her shoes, his shoes; how his feet were so much bigger than hers. And suddenly, she was feeling worse.

A lot worse.

Her brows furrowed as she tried to stop herself from—

No, why would she even—

Why _should_ she even—

A soft whimper escaped her lips.

And suddenly, she felt something press against her forehead, right where the band-aid was.

Slowly, her eyes trailed from his shoes to his legs to his torso to his face. Lily watched him, her eyes wide.

"You're always saying I should 'kiss the boo-boos better,'" Dell sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was quiet.

She broke into a wide grin, eyes beaming.

"Y'know, that's not where my heart is," she pointed out.

"I know where your _heart _is," he retorted, pointing towards the left side of her chest as he took a step back from the student. "I studied medicine. Obviously."

Well, she certainly doubted the last part since everything he did as a nurse contradicted it. Lily chuckled in response. "And ain't that where my boo-boo is?"

"I'd rather not get arrested, thank you very much," Dell scoffed. He pulled a lighter and a fresh cigarette from his coat pocket, placing the stick in his mouth.

"Hey, I'm almost eighteen, y'know," she informed him with a frown.

He quickly lit the cigarette and returned the lighter to his pocket. "Really, you have a fourteen-year-old's chest," he observed wryly.

"I thought ya' didn't wanna get arrested." She narrowed her eyes accusingly.

Dell shrugged as he returned to his desk and took a seat. "Doesn't mean I can't look."

Lily opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, he added, "And no, I don't want a better view."

A pout formed on her lips as she crossed her arms under her chest. Again, it was quiet as she watched the older man nonchalantly blowing puffs of smoke (and it still bothered her. A lot).

And—

She was content.

Feeling better, definitely.

Lily stood up and walked towards the door, resisting the urge to hum as she did so. Her hand on the knob, about to turn—

"Leaving already?"

Her heart fluttered.

She looked straight ahead as she answered, "Gonna miss me?"

"No," he deadpanned.

Lily found herself smiling. "Love ya' too, hun."

And with that, she left the nurse's office, her smile turning into a grin.

It wasn't hopeless, not at all.

* * *

She hadn't made much progress in the weeks that followed. It was quite discouraging—it was almost like they were at square one again. And no, Lily was not delusional for thinking they ever got to square two at some point. It wasn't hopeless, she knew. She was absolutely certain it wasn't. Just the fact that the generally apathetic school nurse that did everything with such a nonchalant attitude showed that he _cared _about her, even if just a little. . .

Lily walked into Dell's office, unannounced; typical, daily routine of theirs.

Except today was a little different.

All of the waiting for nothing; she was annoyed.

As usual, the school nurse did not look up from his work as Lily entered. But instead of taking her seat in the usual patient's chair, she stood firmly in the middle of the office. She started unbuttoning the top of her shirt; cleavage a-go. Her heart was beginning to race.

She took a deep breath.

Slowly, she approached Dell. The man was seated by his desk, eyes scanning some paperwork. Surprisingly, he was not smoking (another thing unusual about today).

He glanced up from his paper.

He seemed to do a double take, before returning to his work as though he saw nothing.

She wasn't going to have that, oh no.

Lily reached for the papers and quickly pulled them out of his hands, throwing the sheets to the ground. He frowned.

His frown deepened as she crawled onto his lap, sitting up tall and wrapping her arms around his neck. Lily gazed down at the older man. He had quite the view; the edge of her lacy pink bra peeking out from her unbuttoned top (really, she hardly seemed like the type).

Dell stared back, unreactive.

A complete poker face.

They stayed like that for a moment before she lowered her head, mumbling into his ear disappointedly, "What're ya', gay?"

And with that, she slid off of him. Lily huffed, crossing her arms under her chest. With a final frown, she turned around and exited the room, not bothering to fix her attire.

After he heard the click of the door shutting, Dell covered his flushing face with his hand.

"What the hell's wrong with that girl. . .," he muttered.

* * *

**A/N:**

Maybe it's just my nostalgia goggles, but it feels like nothing else I've written has the same feel as this; the thing that made me _like_ them. Ah.


	5. Types of People

**A/N:**

I'm going to quietly wait for another DellxLily story to surface on this site. Iwanttobelieve.

**Summary:** We aren't nice, and we aren't going to pretend.

* * *

He was hardly the type to go to mixers of his own accord. But as the vice president of the artists and repertoire department of Yamaha Records, Dell was used to attending such get-togethers. For work, at least.

There was nothing wrong with little business parties. After all, it was for business. And it was to be expected as someone of the A&R department, seeing as they were in charge of signing artists to the label and working with them.

This case, simply put, was nothing more than a social mixer. There was no sense in Dell being there, really. Yet somehow, he let his coworkers drag him into something like this. He wasn't entirely sure of what the occasion was—something about a birthday?—but it ended up being a party of almost twenty. Dell wasn't sure whether he would've rather had more or less people; more people always meant loud and rambunctious, but also less attention drawn to himself.

In any case, he wasn't exactly the life of the party.

He spoke with his coworkers and friends, and the occasional stranger made small chat with him before moving on to mingle with others. It wasn't long before Dell decided to take a seat at the side, pull out a cigarette and simply watch the partygoers.

"Hey, there!" he heard someone call out. He turned his head to the sound of the voice and a second later, a woman with long, golden hair took a seat next to him.

"Got a smoke?" she asked, eying his cigarette. Her eyeliner was on thick and her mascara applied generously, making her azure eyes pop.

He paused for a second before holding out a pack and lighter.

Without hesitation, the blonde took a cigarette from the pack and lit it. "Thanks!" she exclaimed, winking.

"Oh, yeah! My name's Lily," she offered, bringing the freshly lit stick to her mouth.

"Dell," he returned simply.

"Oh? Dell, huh. I heard you were in A&R, was it?" she commented, gaze to the side. "Me, I actually sing. I'm a singer. Funny, huh?"

Ah. So she was _that_ kind of person.

He would've been blind not to notice the deep red stain her lips left on the cigarette as she slowly pulled it out of her mouth to let out a puff of smoke. It was evident what kind of game she was playing and exactly what type of person she was.

And he couldn't help himself from smiling.

"Really, what a coincidence," Dell muttered, monotone.

Lily chuckled, batting her eyelashes as she spoke, "Really! But, y'know, I still haven't gone pro yet, technically."

Suddenly she was close, not just a simple seat away. She was leaning towards him and he could smell her lavender perfume, the bitter scent of the smoke against her lips. "Hey," she whispered into his ear, "d'you wanna hear?"

Voice unfaltering, he replied, "Sure, send me a demo."

Pulling back with a frown, she sighed. "Ah, I don't have any with me right now."

"Too bad."

She was quiet for a moment before placing her hand on his leg, tracing small circles with her finger. She mumbled slowly, voice husky and eyes lidded, "Then, how about a private concert?"

He felt a smirk forming on his lips. "That works too."

* * *

He'd be lying if he said she wasn't any good. It was obvious it wasn't her first time, just as it wasn't his. They were both grown adults; it'd be odd if it were.

But she knew all the moves that'd make a man tick, and she quickly conformed to his desires.

It was clear what kind of woman she was.

But he wasn't going to let her be in control.

・

The next day, he signed her onto the record label.

Truth be told, he did think she had quite the nice voice—particularly when she was moaning his name.

* * *

"A producer?" she echoed, blinking.

Dell nodded. "Naturally. He'll make your songs better. Marketable. Besides, no one will take you or your songs about being a slut seriously."

"Whore," she corrected nonchalantly. "Need to be paid."

"And I'm sure that makes all the difference in the world."

"Ain't that what sells these days, anyway?" Lily crossed her arms under her chest, adding, "Not that my songs are like that, though."

Ignoring her comment, he stated, "He'll be here tomorrow working to help produce your first album. So try not to be too indecent."

"Can't make any promises," she sang. She narrowed her eyes and a smirk formed on her lips, similar to that night.

He chuckled.

* * *

They never said much after the act. There was no reason to. A surprisingly calming silence always followed, apt for thinking (at least, until one of them opened their mouth). Dell didn't care much about what was on her mind and he was certain the feeling was mutual.

Strands of gold covered the bedsheets, his finger twirling a lock of her hair around and around. Lily laid on her side, facing away from her employer.

It was perfect, really.

He knew exactly what type of person she was. She'd do anything for fame. It was more than enough for her, simply put.

And he knew exactly what he could do.

"You have stars in your eyes," he murmured, gaze fixated on the ceiling.

"Those'd be some pretty words if they weren't coming out of your mouth," Lily retorted, voice muffled.

"They wouldn't be pretty coming out of anyone's mouth," he remarked, feeling a smirk tugging at the end of his lips. He pulled on her hair, hard.

"_Fuck_ing," she seethed, instinctively curling her body at the pain that coursed through her scalp. Shooting Dell a quick glare, she clumsily pulled away from him and rolled off the bed. The singer picked her things up from the ground without another word and headed towards the door.

"It's a good thing, you know," he added, but she was already gone.

* * *

When the news got to her, she was practically jumping up and down, fists pumping and eyes sparkling.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, clearly unable to contain her enthusiasm. "Eighty-two! That's awesome! _So_ awesome! Oh my God!"

Lily's first single debuted at eighty-two on the Top 100 chart. Not particularly impressive. Dell predicted that to be its peak rank.

The sales weren't _terrible_, per se, but they also weren't anything to get excited about. But he was well aware that the thing that truly got her blood rushing was having her name out there for the world to see. Oh, yes, the money was good, but he was a hundred percent certain that it wasn't her main desire.

He knew exactly what kind of person she was, after all.

It really was too easy.

* * *

There was no kissing.

They did everything but kiss.

It was just something they had silently agreed on the first time. But sometimes he had to stop his lips from grazing against hers, and sometimes she had to stop herself from leaning in too close to his face.

They both knew they were only slip-ups.

There was nothing more to it than what it was.

* * *

They never saw each other much at work. Despite everything, they ran in completely different circles.

Lily was busy working on her album and promoting herself. Dell was busy overseeing his department, attending various meetings and signing new artists to the record label; he had no time to dote on anyone in particular.

The only times they saw each other were when she needed something from him, or he needed something from her.

He didn't mind.

He couldn't particularly say he enjoyed or disliked her company, after all.

* * *

"Dell!" he heard her voice call.

He stopped, turning to face the blonde singer. "What? What do you want?" Because she always wanted something.

Catching up to his still figure, Lily smiled. "Can't I just say hi to my boss?"

"You can, but _you_ sure as hell don't," he remarked. "So get to the point."

"I guess." The woman chuckled, taking a step closer. "So, uh, fly me to England?"

His eyebrow shot up. "Why?"

"'Cause I wanna go," she replied simply, her hand reaching out to touch his silk tie. She took another step forward. She was close, close enough so that the scent of her citrus shampoo filled his nostrils. Her dainty fingers fiddled around with the knot of the blood red tie that matched his eyes so well.

"That's hardly a reason," he breathed.

She laughed, loud, melodious.

And the next thing he knew, she was on him, he was on her.

He wasn't surprised. It was always like this; just something they did on off days, on days he had things on his mind, on days she had requests. So when she asked again, fingers slowly trailing down his abdomen, he simply complied.

He always let her do what she wanted.

He didn't really care.

* * *

"You've seen your sales lately, right? Pretty shitty, basically," he informed her.

Lily frowned. "They ain't_ that_ bad."

"Since I was the one that signed you, if your career goes down the shitter, it's all on me," Dell continued. "You know that, right?"

Her frown was quickly replaced with an amused smile. "That's perfect, then."

He sighed. "Look. Obviously your music _sucks_, so we're doing a complete change. An overhaul of your career."

"What? What do you mean?" She narrowed her eyes.

"We're changing your style. Going more mainstream pop for the next album," Dell explained, as though he were stating the obvious. Sure, he had allowed her to work closely on all of the songs on her first album a year ago, but that clearly didn't go so well.

Her face contorted in disgust at his words. "You're changing my music? What the hell? You can't just do that!" she shouted, fury blazing in her eyes.

"We can." Dell shrugged his shoulders casually. "It's in the contract."

"Besides, it's not really much of an issue. Most artists go through a change of style at some point in their career—there's the 'experimental' phase and, let's face it, music changes over time," he reasoned.

"I don't give a shit," Lily hissed. "I don't want to do that."

He scowled at her refusal, his patience running thin. He was expecting her rebellious attitude from the start, but it didn't mean he had to like it. "We're not here to make people happy; we're here to make _money_."

"Money?! Oh, that's _hilarious!_" she scoffed. "But you're right! You're_ completely_ right!"

Before he could say anything more, she quickly flipped him the finger and rushed off in the opposite direction.

Oh.

She knew.

Well, he suspected she knew since the very start.

* * *

He heard the distinctive click of his door being opened, followed by a loud slam as it was pushed shut. Without having to peer up, Dell was already well aware of who was paying him a visit.

"I like office sex as much as the next guy, but now's not a good time," Dell remarked, not bothering to look away from the paperwork in front of him.

"Ain't what I'm here for." He could practically hear the contempt seething from her voice. It was clear in his mind what kind of expression she wore. He didn't even have to look up to know how her lips were pursed, how her eyebrows were furrowed.

"We seem to be on the same page, then. So get out of my office."

Ignoring his order, she returned, "Give me my money."

"What money?"

"The money you haven't been giving me," she elaborated. "Since the beginning. You haven't been giving me nearly enough."

He scribbled a few things on the paper in front of him as she spoke.

"Give me my money," Lily repeated, louder.

"I don't need to give you anything," he replied, setting his pen down and looking up from his work to make eye contact. He was right: her face was contorted in displeasure exactly as he had predicted. "I already gave you a _chance_, something no one else would've. Look, you've made some headlines. You're _famous_. Really, I've given you everything you've ever wanted."

She raised an eyebrow. "Obviously you haven't. You've been ripping me off!"

"Yes, since the beginning, and you're only bringing it up now?" he questioned.

"Well, things've been changing too much lately," she huffed. "Like the other day. About my music. I don't like it. So I want my fair share of what we've done 'til now."

There was a moment of silence.

Dell couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "You have absolutely no issues with sleeping around to get what you want and generally no morals or ethics whatsoever. And _t__his_, of all things, is where you draw the line? That's_ hilarious_. You really are horrible."

"Oh, yeah? All this, coming from you?" she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"Coming from me just shows how horrible you really are," he pointed out with a shrug. "But if it's any consolation, you're the most interesting girl I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."

"_Really_," she drawled. "I can't say the same about you."

"I'd hope not; I'm not a girl," he replied. "As you're well aware."

"I'm leaving," she stated.

"Sorry, Sunshine." He smirked. "Remember your contract?"

There was a pause.

"Thanks for nothing," she muttered. Flashing him a sneer, Lily turned on her heels, her long blonde hair flowing along with her movement.

"Thanks for everything."

"Hope I never see your face again."

"I'll see you soon."

"Fuck you," she growled.

"Exactly." He chuckled, watching her with a bemused expression as she stormed out of the room.

Contract aside, they both knew that she had nowhere else to go. No one else would give her a chance in hell, and she'd come running back in no time.

And then they'd fall back into their limbo, a happy balance of using and being used.

After all, that was just the type of people they were.

* * *

**A/N:**

Because I think they'd be absolutely horrible, too.

I'd wanted to write some more scenes, but the point was that they _don't_ speak to each other often. And I couldn't think of much else. OTL

This is the other side of (my) Lily that I don't get to write often, nor do I think I will be writing often in the future. In any case, I feel like this kind of unhealthy, dysfunctional relationship suits these two the best. orz


	6. Five Times Lily Got Drunk

**A/N:**

You may or may not be wondering where one of the earlier drabbles has disappeared to. Well, I deleted it 'cause I couldn't bear to read it myself anymore.

**Summary:** Five times Lily got drunk, and one time she didn't regret it.

Alternatively,

Sometimes, the only bad thing about getting drunk is the hangover.

* * *

"Ugh." Her stomach lurched. She could feel the bile moving up her throat again. Gross. Absolutely gross. A loud retching sound echoed throughout the confines of the small bathroom as Lily emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet for the umpteenth time that evening. Hanging her head in the bowl, the blonde let out a heavy moan.

"Fuck. Fucking shit," she groaned. "My tummy's killin' me. Why's it so bad? Like, a million times worse than normal."

He pushed back the strands of gold that threatened to fall into the toilet bowl, fingers grazing lightly across her shoulder blades as he did so.

"Let's see. You got completely wasted, for starters," Dell explained, "then decided it'd be a smart idea to play Truth or Dare. And that you should choose dare all of the time."

There was a pause.

"Fuck," she cursed yet again.

He held her hair back as she puked once more. "They started blending some things together. Expired milk, fish, asparagus—"

"Stop," he heard her interject.

"Mustard—"

"Stop!" Lily exclaimed. "Ugh. I remember now, okay? I remember. _Ugh_."

"Then you came into the washroom while _I_ was doing my business," he continued with a scowl, "and here we are now."

She groaned again. "No wonder my tummy feels like it wants to murder me."

"Naturally. After all, you also started to—"

"_Stop_," Lily whined, resting her head against the toilet seat. "I remember. I remember it all now, so just. . . stop."

He chuckled, patting her back. "You're an idiot."

"Fuck."

"Imagine your hangover with that stomach ache," Dell mused.

"Considering I was so hammered I'd forgotten about all that gross stuff until now, I think I'm starting to get a little less drunk and god _damn_, yeah, my head's starting to fucking sting now, too," she mumbled.

"Yeah, you're an idiot," he reiterated.

Before she could respond, Lily felt a sudden resurge of vomit. Dunking her head into the bowl and clutching the sides of the toilet, the blonde hurled for the hundredth time that night.

"Pleasant," Dell muttered, holding her hair up in a pseudo-ponytail as she gagged.

"Yeah," she moaned.

She was probably going to spend the rest of the night with her head inside the toilet and, honestly, he wasn't surprised. Half the times she got intoxicated, it would end up like this.

And the other half, well—

He couldn't say it was any better.

* * *

The atmosphere was loud and rambunctious, as per usual. Hardly anyone would bat an eyelash if a fight broke out, since it was, simply, commonplace. But this particular bar had the best drinks in town, and Dell wasn't going to switch just because of a few idiots disturbing the relative peace. It wasn't really much of a problem to him, though, as he didn't ever waste his time with bar fights himself; even while drunk, he was still smarter than the majority of the people in the room were when sober.

The man downed one last shot before deciding on a smoke break. Sliding off the bar stool, Dell headed out of the establishment, hands rummaging through his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter as he did so. Stepping out of the building, he brought a single cigarette to his lips and lit it with ease.

Familiar strands of gold entered his vision.

He looked up.

He knew exactly who it was, only from looking at her back. And from the way she stumbled, giggling and clinging to the brown-haired man next to her, he also knew that she was completely wasted.

Dell exhaled, blowing a puff of smoke.

He just hoped she wouldn't complain too much about her walk of shame in the morning.

Naturally, he was completely wrong.

The next day, she caught up with him on the college campus, saying, "I can't remember shit from last night!"

He sighed. "That's a good thing, I'd think."

"I woke up next to some random guy," she grumbled, "and only when I got home I saw that he'd written his number on my ass."

"You can always call him if you wanna know what happened last night, then," Dell pointed out, an amused smirk forming on his lips.

"Yeah, but when I look in the mirror, it's all reflected and shit. Hard to read," Lily huffed.

The blonde quickly added, "Besides, I can't read the writing, even if I wanted to. Which I _don't_. His writing's worse than yours, y'know?"

"My writing's not bad." Dell frowned. "_Yours_ is worse than _mine_."

"No. My writing is chicken scratch; yours is chicken shit," she corrected.

"Then this guy's is chicken shit run over by a tractor several times?"

"Basically." Lily nodded, before grimacing, "Ugh, this is gonna be such a pain to wash off."

"I'm not helping," he stated immediately.

"I wasn't asking." She pursed her lips at his comment. "But, ya' don't even want a peek?"

"No, not at all," he replied without missing a beat.

"Faggot," she teased, playfully scowling at him. After a moment, she winked at her companion and offered, "Whatever, I'll be here when you straighten up a bit."

He raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'd wanna do _you_ of all people?"

She looked at him like the answer was obvious, and the tone of her voice reflected such as she remarked, "'Cause I'm good. Good enough to get someone's number on my ass."

"Right. And you say that like it's something to be proud of."

"Oh, _shut up_." Lily raised her hand, lightly hitting him on the arm.

"No, you called my writing chicken shit," he returned.

And despite the headache, her sore back and the ink on her behind, she still laughed.

* * *

The ringing of the phone awoke him from his slumber. Pushing strands of silver away from his eyes, he sluggishly reached for the phone on the nightstand.

"Hello?" he mumbled.

"Why didn't ya' answer yer cell?" a familiar voice responded.

Right. Why wasn't he surprised?

"It's three A.M. I have it off," Dell grunted, glancing at the digital clock on the bedside. He kicked off his covers and sat up, hanging his legs over the side of the mattress. "So why the fuck are you calling me?"

She giggled. "I'm lost."

"You're—lost?" he repeated. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness of his room. He was starting to feel less lethargic as well.

"Yeah! Come find me!" Lily enthusiastically replied.

There was a pause.

"You're drunk, aren't you," he muttered dryly. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Just a little!" she sang.

"So why can't you call a taxi?" he inquired, though he knew bringing logic into this matter wouldn't help much.

"I dunno where I am. I'm lost, y'know? Plus, the taxi can't take my car."

"There _is _a thing called a tow truck," he reminded. "You didn't crash into anything—or anyone—did you?"

"Mm, nope!"

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Where are you?"

"Dunno."

"Right." Dell sighed. Of course she was functioning at a level lower than usual, which wasn't even that high in the first place. "What do you see around you?"

He heard some shuffling at the other end, before she answered simply, "Uh, a gas station."

"Which?" he pressed on.

"Uh. Pietro."

He made a mental note to himself. "Anything else?"

There was no answer.

"You know I can't actually see you, right?" he muttered.

"Oh! I was shaking my head."

"Thought so."

"Nah, it's all just, like, road?" she added. "Road and bushy trees."

He stopped, concentrating on the mental map he pulled up in his mind. A Pietro station? With relatively nothing around it?

"God _damn_, how far did you go?" he asked, exasperated.

"Hm, 'til my tank emptied?" she sang.

He almost wanted to suggest she go fill it up at the gas station right next to her, but she was clearly in no state to drive any longer—or at all.

"So, why couldn't you ask anyone else to come get you?" he finally questioned.

"Oh. Right. I can do that."

"You know what? Never mind. I'm already wide awake," Dell grumbled. "Don't go anywhere. I'm coming."

He hung up before she could respond.

Getting off of his bed, he stumbled towards the door and switched the lights on. The lights flickered a little before illuminating the entirety of his room. He squinted at the sudden brightness that flooded his vision. He walked towards his closet, randomly pulling out a plain black t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. After messily putting on the articles of clothing, Dell grabbed his wallet, a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his nightstand. He placed a cigarette in his mouth and quickly lit it, inhaling deeply.

Ironically, smoking sobered him up.

And with that, he headed out the door. Lily was lucky that he didn't have any classes the next day.

It took about half an hour before he found her.

Her car was parked on the side of the road. She laid on the hood, her long hair spread across the sleek surface. He slowly pulled up next to her and stopped. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he exited his vehicle.

"Lily," was all he said.

Startled by the sound of his voice, she rolled off the car. "Dell?"

"Yeah." He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. As he approached the vehicle, dents in the front bumper caught his attention. "I thought you said you didn't crash into anything."

She hopped onto her two feet, brushing her skirt off. "Uhm, I didn't?"

"Right. Well, get into my car," he ordered. "I'm going to call a tow truck."

"'Kay!" she hummed. Dell pulled out his cell phone and dialed, all the while keeping his gaze on the blonde. She stumbled towards his car, clumsily opened the passenger's door and practically fell into the seat. He joined her in the driver's seat shortly after everything was handled.

"It's going to take a while for them to come, so we'll have to wait," he told her.

"Mm, okay. I've been like, waiting all this time, 'nyway." Lily smiled.

"You owe me. Big time," he stated.

"Mm. Yeah."

"I'm not going to do anything about your car damage."

"Mm."

"You're paying for the tow truck yourself."

"Mm."

"And for my gas."

"Mm."

He paused.

"You should be thanking me."

There was no response.

He glanced over at the passenger's seat.

She had already fallen asleep.

* * *

"Dell!" she shrieked.

Said man casually took a drink of his coffee. "What?"

"My debit's not working! What the hell?" Lily exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"And this has to do with me, how?" he inquired.

"It was fine the other day! And it's empty now?! What? Why?"

"And why do you think I would I know why?"

"Well, _do_ you?" she pressed on.

Dell took another swig of his drink. "I do."

Her brow furrowed. "So, what, did you steal my money?"

"No." He frowned. "Check your photos. You made me take a picture."

"My photos?" Lily echoed, taking her cell phone out from her pocket. It was quiet as she scrolled through her gallery. Dell simply enjoyed his beverage as he waited for her to find the answer to her own question. It didn't take long until she yelped, "W-What is this?"

"Found it, did you?"

"What the hell is it?!" she shouted, practically shoving her phone in his face. He scooted back a little. On the screen was Lily; she had her arms wrapped around some sort of tall structure. He couldn't exactly say what it was; it was a little hard to describe. Shoddily painted cardboard boxes composed the base with tin cans of various sizes stacked on top. Crumpled up newspaper and food wrappers were haphazardly taped to the sides.

Simply put, it was the epitome of shitty, abstract art.

And she was grinning like the huge idiot she was in the photograph, clutching onto the abnormally large mess.

"Did I buy this? Are you saying I bought this?" she blanched, reeling her arm back and pocketing her phone.

Dell nodded. "Only cost you five hundred."

She stared. "I hope you mean cents."

"You know what I mean."

Her jaw dropped.

"I-I _what?_ N-No way," Lily stuttered. "I mean, what the hell _is_ it!"

"A five hundred dollar masterpiece, clearly," he drawled.

"It looks like it was made by a cat, I can't believe it," she muttered.

Dell smirked. "A pretty talented cat, if it could sell that for five hundred dollars."

"How could you let me buy this!?" she demanded. "For _five hundred dollars!_"

"I tried to stop you," he admitted with a shrug. "But you were all drunk and angry and, really, what you spend your money on has nothing to do with me."

"Try_ harder!_" she exclaimed. "Grab me by my shoulders, lock me inside your car and drive away! As fast as you can!"

"I can't do that." He took another drink of his coffee. It was empty.

"Why not?" She pouted.

"Because that's really similar to, oh, I don't know, the _illegal act of kidnapping?_" Dell explained, throwing the empty cup into a nearby trashcan.

"No, it's not!" she assured him. "You have my consent! It's okay!"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't think the rest of the world would agree when they see me forcing you, kicking and screaming, into my car."

She hesitated. "What if there was something in it for you? What—What if I gave you something? Like, like, the sculpture!"

"And why would I want that piece of shit?"

"It's a masterpiece," she corrected.

"It looks like it was made by a cat."

"A_ talented_ cat," Lily persisted.

He shook his head. "Yeah, no thanks."

The blonde let out a loud groan, running her fingers through her hair frantically. "I'm fucking broke!" she moaned, hanging her head down. "_This_, and then that other time with the tow truck and your gas. . ."

"Kill me now," she muttered.

"Or you could always drink less," he suggested with an amused smile, because he was well aware of what her response would be to such an idea.

Her eyes narrowed. She repeated, "_Kill me now_."

"I did say I didn't want to go to jail earlier, right?"

"That's why you don't get caught," she stated, voice low. Suddenly, Lily reached forward, cupping his hands in hers. "_I trust you._"

Almost as quickly as she grabbed onto him did he forcibly release himself from her grasp.

He sighed, taking a step back from the girl. "You really are an idiot."

* * *

The sound of his ringtone broke the relative silence of the bedroom. Picking it up, he warily glanced at the time. One in the morning. And he was only half done the studying he had planned to do that day. For a moment, Dell contemplated whether or not to answer the call; seeing as he had no caller ID, he had no idea who was trying to contact him.

But he was pretty sure he already knew who it was as he finally accepted the call. "What?" he demanded.

"Can you come get me?" the voice was quiet, almost timid. "At the usual place."

"Can't you just call a taxi, Lily?" It was almost as though she wasn't aware that such a thing existed.

"No money. Spent it all on booze," she answered simply.

Of course.

Dell sighed. "Can't you call someone else, then?"

It was quiet for a moment, save for the muffled laughter he could hear in the background. "Please?"

He blinked. There was something different in the way she was asking this time. She hardly slurred and her voice was not as loud as it usually was when she was intoxicated. Nor was there the joking tone she regularly used.

Dell glanced at the time again. He'd been working for a few hours straight now. The words in his textbook were beginning to blur; a short break wouldn't be too bad, he decided.

He exhaled, loud. "This is the _last_ time, all right?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

And this time around, she was the first to hang up.

・

He stepped into the bar, quickly scanning the vicinity for familiar locks of golden yellow. It didn't take long to find her; she was seated on one of the bar stools, slumped over the countertop directly in front of the bartender. He took a seat next to her. She glanced up, brushing her bangs away from her eyes to see her company. Her lips quirked up slightly as she realized who it was.

He was a little taken aback.

Her eyes were puffy and the deep blue hazy. Her face was flushed red, but that could've easily been attributed to the alcohol. Still, Lily's brow was wrinkled and her mouth quivered.

"Have you been crying?" Dell asked slowly.

She tilted her head slightly, humming, "Does it look like it?"

"Would I be asking if it didn't?"

She took a long swig of the drink in front of her. "My boyfriend broke up with me," the blonde stated simply, setting the cup down.

"You had a boyfriend?" This was the first he had ever heard of him.

"Yeah, had." Her eyes focused on her alcoholic beverage, the drops of liquid that gently slid down the sides.

Dell could tell she wasn't going to say who he was, but he supposed it didn't really matter. He stood up, patting the girl lightly on the back. "Come on; let's go."

She looked up at him, then back at her drink before slowly sliding off of the stool and following him out the door. It was silent as they both entered his car and as he started up the engine. Lily leaned against the door, resting her head on the window. He adjusted his mirrors slightly before heading off.

The drive was eerily quiet to Dell, because Lily wasn't a quiet person.

So he felt a little relieved when she finally spoke up, despite the words she used.

"You're a jerk," she said suddenly as he made a right turn.

"Gee, _thanks_," he muttered.

"But not really," she added softly, closing her eyes. "You've actually got, like, a heart."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And what makes you think that?" he asked absentmindedly.

"That time you held my hair back. That time you found me in the middle of nowhere," she mumbled. "And, this time."

"The last time," he reminded.

"Yeah. And it's not like you wanna get in my pants or anything, too. But I wouldn't mind, I guess."

If he wasn't sure that she was drunk before, he was certain now. She chuckled lightly, turning her head to face him. He briefly glanced away from the road, her eyes catching his. "Are you crying?"

"All the guys I date are just plain jerks," she muttered in response, sniffing. He couldn't see any tears. "I don't want to fall in love with jerks anymore."

"Then don't," was all he said as he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. It didn't matter what he said because she probably wasn't going to remember any of it in the morning, anyway.

She laughed, loud, humourlessly. "'Cause that's real easy, right?"

Dell turned into a parking space, stopping the car and switching off the ignition when he deemed the vehicle's position satisfactory. "Maybe it's not as hard as you think it is," he commented, shrugging his shoulders.

She stumbled as she exited the car and all the way to the front door as he escorted her.

"Well. Here." He stared at the wide entrance. "You're welcome."

"Yeah."

With that, Dell turned, holding his right hand up in a casual farewell.

He only walked a few steps before he heard a muffled, "I don't want to be alone."

He stopped.

He glanced over his shoulder. Her legs wobbled, the entirety of her body shook and she was covering her face with her hands.

He sincerely doubted that she could even make it to her apartment alone in one piece, in her current state.

He sighed.

・

Her head was pounding. She was finding it difficult to remember the events of the previous night. God, the headache was killing her. It literally felt like her skull had been squeezed and everything within and around was _not_ happy. Just as she wasn't. The alarm that rang (much, much too close to her ears) was definitely not helping, either. Sloppily, Lily threw her arm out and aggressively smacked her alarm clock until it went silent. The blonde let out a loud groan as she rolled out of bed, one hand rubbing her tired eyes and the other massaging her temple. She sluggishly made her way out of the bedroom and into the small kitchen.

"Morning, Sunshine," a gruff voice greeted.

"Mornin'," she mumbled, glancing briefly at Dell.

Somehow, she suddenly felt self-conscious about her appearance. She hadn't looked in the mirror yet, but she was fully aware of how she must have appeared; hair in absolute tangles, bags under her eyes, smeared makeup and the dirty clothes from last night still on.

Then again, it probably didn't matter much. He'd seen her drunk many times before; this was really no different.

It just felt _weird_ because he was in her apartment and—

Wait, he was in her apartment?

Lily rubbed her eyes again.

Yes, there he was, standing in the middle of her kitchen for a completely unknown reason. So she really wasn't just seeing things, then. Not that she ever imagined him in her apartment on a regular basis, or at all. "What're you doin' here?" she asked.

They hadn't done _that_ last night, right?

He hesitated, almost as though he was thinking about the proper choice of words to use. "I couldn't leave you alone," he eventually answered.

"Oh," was all she could manage.

Some of last night was starting to come back to her now. She squinted, trying to ignore the pain that flared through her head and concentrate on her vague memory of the previous day's events.

"I spent all morning slaving over a hot stove to make you breakfast," Dell drawled, pulling out a chair and sitting down by the kitchen table. He pushed a bowl across the smooth surface.

Lily blinked, taking a seat herself at the opposite end.

She remembered now.

She remembered that she didn't really _want_ to remember.

But when she looked up at her company, saw the tiredness in his eyes, she thought that maybe it wasn't as horrible as it could've been, in the end (though it was still a pretty killer hangover). Lily glanced at the bowl in front of her, corn flakes floating around gently in the bed of milk.

"Thanks," she whispered, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's just cereal."

"Still."

"Right."

Dell glanced at his watch, suddenly standing up. He informed her hastily, "Time for me to go."

Saying that, the man simply turned around and headed towards the door.

"Thanks," she repeated, just before he exited, her voice soft.

There was a pause.

"Anytime."

* * *

**A/N:**

I like the five-times kind of stories. They're fun. I also thought it'd be fun not to write this entirely from Lily's perspective.


	7. Love

**A/N:**

Happy birthday to Lily on the 25th! (And to Miku on the 31st.)

**Summary:** He hates being in love.

* * *

The first time he meets her, he falls.

Literally.

He's minding his own business as he walks through the quiet halls of the school. There is hardly anyone roaming the building at this time, save for students skipping class and the others that don't have any class to attend this period, such as himself.

He glances to the side, simply observing an advertisement posted on the bulletin board and the next thing he knows, his back is against the ground, the only thing he can see is a blur of yellow and damn, does it _hurt_.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry!" comes a breathless, hasty apology. The voice is low, rich and mature, yet distinctly feminine.

Groaning, he sits upright, an aching pain beginning to spread throughout his back. To his side he notices a still figure; her golden hair is long, incredibly long, and she watches him with wide, bright blue eyes. He doesn't recognize her. But she looks to be in the same grade.

Her hands are raised, hovering close to his arm, almost as though she wants to touch him, to help him. But something catches her eye and she suddenly bolts up, saying again, "Sorry!"

And then she's gone.

Something falls to the ground, attracting his attention.

He picks it up and quickly realizes it's a student card. Her student card.

With a grunt, he stands up, turning to the direction of the sound of her fading footsteps.

Locks of golden yellow disappear around a corner.

He glances at the card again.

"Lily," he mumbles to himself.

* * *

He catches her in between classes, after homeroom. The card has been in his possession for a few days now, it's about time he return it. He calls out, "Hey, you!"

Naturally, she doesn't react.

With a sigh, he corrects himself, "Lily!"

Said girl immediately twirls around at the mention of her name, her long hair bouncing behind her. There's a curious glint in her eyes, and he can tell by the way her gaze darts back and forth that she has no idea who it was that called for her.

He approaches her, making his way through the crowded hallway. He has to make this fast. There's no reason to dawdle. Next period is starting soon.

She looks at him, puzzled.

"Here," is all he says, holding up her identification card. For a moment she just stares, until her eyes finally light up in realization.

"Oh. Didn't even know I lost it!" She laughs, taking the card from him. The sound echoes in his ears, melodious. "Still, thanks for finding it—"

Her voices suddenly falls and she lets out an embarrassed chuckle.

"Dell," he supplements. "It's Dell."

"Then, thanks Dell!" she beams. "I'm Lily. Though I guess ya' already knew that, huh?"

He abruptly turns away, muttering, "Yeah. No problem."

His job is done. He doesn't need to stay in her presence any longer.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his arm. A spark courses through his veins. He slowly looks over his shoulder, stiff. Her hand is small, warm. He feels his stomach knot up.

He immediately pulls back.

She stops, blinking. With an apologetic smile, she mumbles, "Uh. Sorry."

He quickly turns around and leaves for his next class.

The bell rings.

He can still hear the sound of her laughter.

It's already too late.

* * *

"Hey, hey! Dell!"

He recognizes that voice immediately.

He quickens his pace, because he doesn't want to deal with her. Not right now. Not ever. He didn't ask for this. He doesn't _want_ it; it's just not in his plans. Then again, it's never planned, is it?

But she catches up to him with ease, lightly jogging by his side. She repeats enthusiastically, "Hey, Dell!"

"What?" he drawls, keeping his gaze forward.

"I wanted to ask you the other day, when you gave me my student card back, if you wanted to come with me somewhere," she replies.

He tenses up. Still, he asks calmly, "Why? And it depends on where 'somewhere' is."

"Ah, that's not exactly what I meant!" she corrects herself when she notices his reaction, waving her hands around frantically. "But I _do_ mean we should go someplace. As, like, sorry for that time. And thanks for finding my card. I totally owe you, y'know?"

"You don't owe me anything," he tells her. "I don't really care."

"I know a place with some awesome food and music!" she persists, clinging onto his arm. "Come on!"

He looks over at her and for a moment, his eyes get lost in sapphire.

He opens his mouth.

It's exactly as he's feared—it's too hard for him to say "no."

・

A few days later, he finds himself standing in front of a cafe. "Vocafe", it's called. It's a small place, a locally run establishment rather than a big name franchise. He doesn't know much about it; he's passed by the place several times before, but never once bothered to enter it.

Until today, of course.

For fuck's sake, they're just _students_. What kind of high schooler asks a classmate out as, "sorry for that one time, and thanks"? And despite that, he hadn't declined. He _couldn't_ decline. He looks up at the cafe again and it all just seems like a date.

But it's not a date, he reminds himself. No way in hell is it a _date_.

But he doesn't know what to call it.

They aren't even friends.

He glances at his watch. He's ten minutes early. Still, he walks into the restaurant. Just as he's expected, it's not any larger inside than it appears to be outside. The decor is sparse, nothing particularly flashy, matching the neutral colour scheme of the interior well. A quiet tune is playing in the background, setting a calming atmosphere.

A familiar flash of yellow immediately catches his eye.

She notices him just as quickly. Grinning, she waves him over to the small table she's seated at in the corner of the cafe. He lightly waves back, his stomach already lurching. Delaying it no further, he heads to the table and takes a seat across from her, nodding his head at her in acknowledgement.

"Hey!" she greets, waving yet again. "I already placed an order, so no worries!"

How considerate, completely disregarding his opinion.

"The sandwiches here are _so_ good," she continues and he can practically see the drool dripping from her mouth.

"Sandwiches?" he echoes warily. He makes sandwiches himself on a daily basis. The sandwiches here have to be nothing less than a _godsend_ to be worth anything.

"So good!" She nods enthusiastically. "And it'll probably taste even _better_ for ya' 'cause I'm treating."

"I can't let you do that," he replies immediately.

She inclines her head to the side slightly as she questions, "Why? It's like I said before: sorry, and thanks!"

He hesitates.

What image is he trying to maintain exactly?

"Fine, whatever," he eventually complies.

She smiles again, and at that very moment, a waiter comes and places two cups in front of them. She exchanges some quick words with the employee and he mutters a quiet "thanks" under his breath before the man leaves.

"It's cola," she states.

He picks up the glass and takes a sip. The drink fizzes in his mouth, sugar coating his taste buds. Setting it down again as he swallows, he says, "I'm more of a coffee person."

"Eh! So am I!" she exclaims, a hint of surprise lacing her voice. "But I just thought cola would be the safer bet, y'know?"

He's hardly as excited as she is about the fact that their tastes are similar.

"Anyway, sorry for totally bulldozing you that day," she starts.

"Don't mind it," he mumbles, gaze to the side.

"But I do," she persists. "I wasn't looking where I was going 'cause I was runnin' real fast, yeah? Mr. Hiyama was all pissed at me 'cause I pulled a little something."

She chuckles to herself and he raises an eyebrow.

"He still caught me and gave me detention, though," she adds with a frown. "He just likes spending time with me or somethin', I bet."

"I see," he responds absentmindedly.

Suddenly, she jumps out of her seat, eyes focused on something across the room. "I said the music here was awesome before, didn't I?"

He nods his head slowly.

A wide grin spreads across her face and she turns. She hurries across the restaurant, towards the makeshift stage at the side. He stares, puzzled, as she picks up a sleek acoustic guitar. The blonde sits down on the stool already placed on the stage and strums a few quick chords. She taps on the microphone in front of her a few times, gaining the attention of the majority of the room. "Hey, hey," she exclaims, "my name's Lily, and I'm gonna be singing a song or two today. Hope ya' enjoy!"

Without further ado, she starts, plucking the guitar strings slowly. Her eyes concentrate on her fingers, her mouth opens, and it's _music_.

Her voice is rich, full of confidence and depth. It's neither overpowering or overshadowed by the guitar accompaniment. The song starts off slow, gradually picking up the pace until the upbeat chorus, the chorus that's more _her_.

He doesn't know much about music. He has no idea whether it's an original song or just a cover and it simply doesn't matter.

Some customers are watching her performance quietly, others continuing their conversations in low voices.

He's completely captivated.

She's a siren, no doubt about it.

One song seamlessly glides into two, then three and then four. He hardly notices when the waiter place two plates with their order on the table.

The strumming comes to a stop and her voice echoes throughout the establishment, breathy, "That's it for today; thanks for listenin'!"

She beams, a genuine smile on her lips.

Their eyes meet for a second and he feels his heart begin to race.

( he hates being in love, because he knows that smile isn't only for him. )

* * *

His fingers rapidly hit the keys of his laptop. His lips form a thin line, eyebrows furrowed as he concentrates on the word document in front of him. The seat next to him is pulled out and someone occupies the spot. He glances at them from the corner of his eyes. His fingers stop.

Her nose is buried in a thick book, her long hair tucked behind her ear.

He turns his attention back to his assignment.

His hands don't move.

"You don't seem like a library kind of person," he comments eventually, voice low.

"'Cause I'm not," she says simply.

"Then?"

"Good place for skipping," she answers. "You skipping too?"

"No. Don't have class this period."

"Oh. I'll have to remember that, then."

He stops himself from protesting.

A comfortable silence envelops the duo and he redirects his focus to his work. Somehow he feels lighter, a little less stressed about the impending due date.

To his side he sees her with her head resting against the table, eyes closed, book wide open in front of her.

He smiles to himself.

・

He's seeing her more and more; in the hallways, in between classes, in the cafeteria and the library and—maybe he's always seen her, but is only just _seeing_ her now.

He takes a step out of the building, walking casually across the school grounds. He inhales deeply, fresh air filling his lungs.

And he's not surprised in the slightest when he sees her seated on a large slab of rock, acoustic guitar in hand.

He tries to be discreet, but she spots him almost immediately.

"Hey," she calls out, setting the instrument down on the ground.

He slowly approaches, hands stuffed in his pants' pockets. He glances at the guitar laying on the concrete. She stares at him in return.

"You didn't have to stop," he says eventually.

"I guess not," she hums. "But I did. 'Cause of—oh, just 'cause."

He bites his lower lip in response, clenching and unclenching his fists. Finally, he mutters, "I'd like to—uh, maybe I want to hear."

She visibly stiffens at this comment.

"You do?" she breathes.

He nods, slowly.

Saying no more, she picks up the guitar, positions it on her lap accordingly and begins to pluck the strings. Her hand moves fast, feet tapping along in a steady rhythm. The chords crescendo into a comfortable forte and her voice is powerful on the first note, keeping the strength throughout the entirety of the piece. The sound is more akin to rock this time, the acoustic failing to convey the genre properly.

Still, he can imagine what it must sound like in her head.

The song ends with one final flashy strum.

"It's my duck song," she says when she finishes, her chest heaving up and down as she tries to catch her breath.

"What? _Duck_ song?" he echoes, tone incredulous.

"Yeah. Like a swan song. But it's the beginning, not the end," she explains, as though it's obvious and a completely natural train of thought. "So, duck song."

"Why a duck?"

She shrugs. "Why a swan?"

"Maybe because it doesn't sound completely stupid," he points out dryly.

She pauses for a moment, lips pursed in contemplation.

"Then, how about my Dell song?"

He blanches.

"_What?_"

"No one ever asks me to sing again. Ever wants to hear. Not really." She chuckles lightly, her eyes downcast. "It kinda makes me happy that you did."

Looking away, he mutters, "I sure am no one."

She blinks, a smile gracing her features. "I'm glad you're no one, then."

He freezes.

Ah.

He really is in trouble.

・

She waves to him and greets him and smiles at him.

And she waves to everyone and greets everyone and smiles at everyone.

There is virtually nothing remarkable about their relationship (relationship? What relationship?), because she interacts with others just the same.

He watches silently as she chats with a group of boys, gesturing wildly with a wide grin plastered on her face. She laughs, loud; hand to her mouth, tears forming in her eyes. She never laughs like that around him. She's much more subdued, almost like she's holding back.

He doesn't want her to hold back.

But it's typical, and what he sees now is nothing unusual either.

Yet he still grinds his teeth and his hands still ball up into fists, nails digging deep into his palms.

( he hates being in love, because it makes him frustrated in so many ways, yet content and anxious and just plain _overwhelmed_. )

* * *

"Prom's soon, huh," she mumbles, peering down at the sheet of paper she has in hand that announces the event.

"Yeah."

"Who to go with, what to wear," she murmurs, more so to herself than to him. "Huh."

"Hey, Dell." She crumples up the piece of paper, dropping the wad onto the ground next to their feet. "You going?"

"I'll go if you go," he says impulsively.

He regrets it almost immediately.

There's a pause, as though she is carefully thinking through her response. She speaks up, gaze forward, "I'm not going. It's not really my thing, y'know? Big formal dance? Nah. Ah, but, well—"

She cuts herself off, hastily turning her head to face him. She leans forward slightly. "You don't seem like the type, either."

Holding back a cough, he tries not to stutter on his words because of the proximity of their faces.

"I'm not," he mutters in response.

She giggles, pulling back. "Yeah, I thought so."

"But maybe I wouldn't mind being the type," he mumbles under his breath.

"Ah?"

"—Nothing."

( he hates being in love, because it makes him say—_think_—the most embarrassing things. )

* * *

He doesn't plan on keeping in touch with anyone after high school. After all, they're all heading down different walks in life. It's better, really; he can start fresh, forget about those four years, forget about that _last_ year. For the first few months, texts are still exchanged with classmates until they gradually become no more. The work and the new people are reason enough to forget about each other, forget about the people who no longer hold any significance in their lives.

But things don't go as planned for him, not really.

Things haven't been going as planned for a while now.

It's been over a year since graduation. He's in a whole new city and he has no idea where she's gone, but somehow, she still manages to weasel her way back into his life.

"Dell? Is that you?"

Her voice rings clear as a bell in the overcrowded bar.

He hasn't changed much, he thinks. The seat next to him is soon occupied and he slowly turns to face her. She hasn't changed much, either; her hair is a little longer, her makeup darker and bolder to suit the night scene and her eyes the same deep blue.

He hears a few of his acquaintances whistle low and he scowls to himself.

"Wow, it's really you!" she exclaims, her hands reaching out towards him. She stops herself as she realizes what she's doing, laughing quietly. "It's been, like, a year? What've you been up to?"

"School," he answers simply, downing a gulp of the beer in front of him.

"Oh, right. How _fun_." She chuckles.

"What about you?" he inquires, swishing the remaining alcohol around and around in the glass.

"Never thought you'd ask!" He can hear the excitement brimming in her voice as she responds, "So I got signed by a record label. My first single is coming out soon. You gotta listen to it, okay?"

"Of course," he replies without hesitation. "Congratulations, Lily."

"Yeah, I can't believe it!" she remarks. "Man, I was just, like, a high school student two years ago and now I'm a professional. Wow."

"Yeah."

"Two years ago was when we met, wasn't it?" she wonders aloud.

He sets the glass down.

"Yeah. And I, like, ran into you. Remember?"

"How could I forget?" he mutters.

"Yeah. I was actually pretty scared, y'know? Of you, I mean," she admits. "Your eyes. They're really red. They make you look really scary. I thought my life was gonna end right then and there!"

That day, he thinks, was the end of _his_ life.

"Well, _sorry_," he drawls, rolling said frightening eyes. "I'll pass it onto my parents."

"But you're not scary, actually. Not really." She laughs and raises her hand up high in the air, calling the bartender over. She speaks to the man in a low voice as she requests her drink, all the while batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated fashion.

He redirects his attention elsewhere, eyes meeting a classmate's. They smirk at him. He frowns.

He turns back to her when a glass gets placed in front of them.

She picks it up, taking a long sip of the alcoholic beverage.

"I really can't believe it," she repeats, a small smile on her lips as she finishes off the drink.

He's forgotten that she could make those subtle expressions, speak in such a soft voice.

"Yeah."

And he smiles back.

・

That night, she had asked for his cellphone number in order to keep in touch (verbally noting, _you changed it, huh, without telling me_). But she didn't give hers in return, explaining that it changed constantly due to her work. Still, he didn't question it.

Between months, she calls him up, chatting mindlessly about whatever and occasionally asking him out to a drink whenever she just happens to be in the city.

And despite his plans, he finds that he doesn't particularly mind hearing the sound of her voice, or knowing that she wants to reach out to him still.

He hears her first single and it's the—her Dell song. It's more polished, refined, and the instruments are all there, and it's still distinctly _her_. It's not particularly his kind of music, yet he listens to it in between the calls.

It both frustrates him and lifts his spirits.

His fingers absentmindedly reach towards the radio.

He stops at the sound of his ringtone.

He doesn't recognize the number on the screen as he picks up the handheld device. Nevertheless, he answers the call.

"Sir Honne Dell, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I—what?" is all he can manage to say, because to him, the answer is something he doesn't want to admit.

"I don't. I believe in something that grows into love."

He coughs, hard.

An awkward silence fills his bedroom. Only the slight static from the call can be heard.

An abrupt laugh pierces the quietness. "So I'm going to my friends' wedding this week."

"Have you been taking acting lessons, Lily?" he asks slowly.

"Yes, but that's not the point."

"Then what _is_ the point?"

"I still haven't bought a present yet," she whines. "Gimme an idea, Dell!"

"And why can't you ask your other friends?" he questions.

She explains, "'Cause they're going too!"

"Ugh, I don't know, buy a toaster?" he grumbles after a moment's thought. "Then tell them something like, 'This is to toast like love is to marriage.'"

"Uh. What?"

"It can make perfect toast. Or burnt shit. You just have to set everything properly. Like love being the key to marriage," he elaborates. "Or something."

There's a pause.

"What the fuck?"

"What the hell did you expect from me, anyway?" he replies sharply.

"I don't know! Something _good?_" she exclaims. "Besides, the bride wouldn't go for that. She's just like, unreal. She keeps on bragging that it was love at first sight and all that shit. She likes it big and fancy, y'know? I mean, she's crazy 'bout being a June bride and spent at _least_ twenty grand on her dress!"

He raises an eyebrow to himself. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! I'd never spend that much. Holy hell, it's just one day, y'know?" she comments, sounding completely astounded at the mere thought.

"It'd be better just to get married and that's it. Save the money for the future," he agrees wholeheartedly. Maybe as a male he understands where she's coming from well, because he's never dreamed of his wedding day as he knows many girls in their toddler years do.

He imagines her nodding her head along as she continues, "I don't get the whole June thing, either. What's so good 'bout June? Like, wouldn't winter be nicer? There'd be snow and stuff; that'd look pretty."

"There'd also be _coldness_," he points out dryly.

"Well. Yeah, I guess," she mumbles. "But you know what I'm getting at, right?"

"Right. Smaller weddings are better," he remarks.

"Totally! I mean, okay, I make a good amount of money and all that, but still, it's not like I wanna dump it all on a day," she rambles. "So you're a small wedding guy too, then?"

"I guess."

She laughs. "Maybe _we_ should get married, then."

"Yeah, _no_," he replies without hesitation.

"I guess that's something I shouldn't be joking about, huh?" she says, yet he can still hear her laughing.

There's a slight pause and some rustling on the other end.

"Damn!" she suddenly exclaims amidst the ruckus. "Gotta go now. Bye!"

There's a soft click.

"Bye," he says, despite the fact that she's no longer on the line.

Sometimes, he wonders what she would have said if he had agreed.

( he hates being in love, because it _makes_ him wonder. )

* * *

He sits in the musky bar, awaiting her arrival. The shot of vodka in front of him remains untouched. It's been ten months since he's last seen her in person. He's fresh out of university, working now, and she's slowly but surely raising in popularity. The past four years have certainly been _something_.

His fingers grip the small stack of papers in his hands, eyes scanning the lines of ink he can barely comprehend.

"Hey, what's that?"

He jolts in his seat.

She casually sits down next to him, watching him curiously.

He says nothing.

A slight frown on her face, she directs her attention to the bartender. "Scotch, please."

Turning back to him, she asks again, "So? What's that?"

He slowly brings it up, handing the first few sheets to her. She grabs the papers, eyebrows raised. Her eyes widen slightly as she peers down at the print. Quietly, she voices, "Did you—"

"No," he interjects. "I told you about my sister, right?"

He asks as a formality. He already knows he has, multiple times.

"Mm. Yeah. Haku? She wanted to be a singer," she mumbles. Her gaze briefly turns to the glass of scotch placed in front of her, before returning to the papers in her hands.

"She's been writing songs for years and submitting them to various places," he continues. "She came to town recently and left those at my place. She says she doesn't need them anymore."

"I see, I see," she murmurs, flipping through the sheet music quickly.

"So I wanted to give them to you," he finishes. "Some of them might be good for you."

She blinks.

"Thank you so much," she breathes.

"No problem," is all he says.

He downs his shot of vodka in one go.

She follows suit with a grin.

・

He doesn't think she'll use any of the songs. After all, they _are_ the pieces Haku had deemed failures. Sometimes, he wonders what she's doing, but he has no way of getting in contact with her. What he knows are in the occasional tabloid and the words they exchange when she calls.

He absolutely can't believe what he's hearing, what he's seeing.

_Masuda Lily—plagiarist?!_

_The latest artist scandal!_

_100% guilty!_

He immediately phones up his sister, each ring feeling incessantly longer and longer as he waits impatiently for her to answer.

"Dell?" She sounds out of breath, like she'd run to pick up the phone.

"Do you remember the last time you visited? When you left your songs behind, saying you didn't need them?" he asks hastily, heart beating rapidly.

"Did you sell any?" he urges.

There's a moment of silence.

"One," she answers eventually. "I wasn't planning to. But when I came home, I got a call from Miku."

Hatsune Miku. One of the most famous artists presently. An acquaintance of his sister's.

No wonder it's all over the presses.

"Why are you asking?" she asks, voice timid.

"I gave them to Lily," he answers. "And she'd just released a new single."

"—Oh."

"_Yeah_."

"I'm sorry, Dell," is all she manages.

He hangs up without another word.

He resists the urge to punch a hole in his wall in frustration.

He can only imagine how she's feeling right now.

Him, it makes him feel like vomiting.

( he hates being in love, because her pain hurts him just as much. )

* * *

It only gets worse and worse. When his sister tries to explain the situation, it's already too late. The story's already blown wide. The magazines are having a field day, loving the latest scandal involving one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

Lily, a rising star herself, though hardly anywhere as popular, loses all credibility as an artist.

Each and every article following is an insult.

He can't bear to watch because it's all his fault.

It's all his fault and he knows it.

When it all dies down, she effectively disappears from the media. He doesn't know all of the details, but he presumes that her career is officially over now.

He needs to talk to her. Urgently. But he doesn't know where she is or how to get to her.

He wants to believe that she'll call him, like she usually does.

She never does.

・

Months pass without any word from her. It soon becomes a full year.

He tries to occupy himself with his job, but it's hard to stop his mind from wandering back to her.

He'd wanted her gone for so long. But not like this. Not anymore.

His cellphone rings. He picks it up without looking. "Hello?" he greets warily.

"Dell?"

"What is it?" he asks, voice gruff.

"Have you talked to Lily yet?"

He grimaces. "No."

"Oh." There's a pause. "She probably knows the truth by now."

"So?" he growls.

Because knowing doesn't change the fact.

"So—"

"What do you want, Haku?" the man interrupts, patience running thin.

She coughs slightly. "I was over at the studio. I heard some things, so I asked around and—I found out where she lives now."

It takes a moment for him to process her words. "What?"

"It's only a couple of hours' drive away from where you are," she continues.

"Where?" he demands.

"Oh. Uhm. Wait a second, I wrote it down somewhere. . ."

For the first time in years, he is the one to seek her out.

・

The following weekend, he puts everything aside so that he can finally talk to her. The ride is long and tedious and he feels an uncharacteristic anxiousness bubbling up inside of him. But he ignores it.

It's clear that she doesn't want to talk to him, let alone see him.

But he's already here, staring at the modest house in front of him. The bricks are a pale grey, chocolate brown curtains by the windows drawn.

It can't be more than three bedrooms, he notes, observing the height. The yard hardly seems tended to, weeds sprouting here and there. He follows the haphazardly paved path to the front door.

He rings the doorbell.

He runs in his head again, the things he wants to say.

The door swings open and she's there.

Despite everything that's happened, nothing's really changed about her appearance. Her eyes are tired and she looks at his face like she doesn't recognize him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. His mind draws a complete blank; he's already forgotten the words he'd planned so carefully.

She glances down at the flowers he's holding and her expression immediately turns sour. "What the hell is this?"

"Lilies," he answers. "You like them, don't you?"

"Is this a fucking joke?" she spits, grinding her teeth together. "You think you can make everything better just like this? After so long? Fuck _you_, Dell."

"It's not like you even gave me a fucking _chance_ to say sorry," he retorts.

She flinches, hurt evident in her eyes, but she quickly composes herself.

"You're the most selfish person I know!" she shouts suddenly, pointing her index finger at him accusingly. "You're not here 'cause you're _sorry_. You're just here to make yourself feel better!"

"Of course I'm fucking_ sorry!_" he returns with equal strength in his voice. "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

She scowls, deep. "Then what was it _supposed_ to be like, huh?"

He hesitates.

"Just—not like this," is all he can manage. _Not with you angry at me, hating me_, he bites back.

She sneers, eyes hard.

"Take your stupid lilies—no, stupid flowers—and go _shove 'em up your ass!_" she snarls. She snatches the bouquet from his grasp, barely glancing at the arrangement before swiftly throwing it onto the dirty pavement. The lilies pour out of the wrapping.

With that, she grabs the doorknob and pushes forward roughly.

His foot stops the door from slamming shut.

She looks between his face, contorted in pain, and his jammed foot.

She lightly pushes on the door.

His foot doesn't budge.

"I love you, Lily," he breathes.

Because those few words say more than enough.

Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the words, gaze darting immediately to the side. He sees her grip loosen on the wood, fingers trembling. Her tone is almost apologetic as she quietly says, "I'm getting married in June."

His mouth feels dry and he tries not to think about all of the opportunities he missed, all of the ones he ignored.

"So." She raises her voice, demanding, "_Go away_."

He unwedges his foot from the door at her command, watching silently as it closes in front of him.

He turns around without another word.

For a moment, he just stands there, staring at the trashed bouquet on the ground and the fallen flower petals.

( he hates being in love, because she'll never love him back. )

* * *

A month later, as he's sifting through his mail, a certain envelope catches his eye.

A small letter with a golden pattern.

A wedding invitation.

He opens it slowly, pulls out a slip of paper and stares at the cursive writing: "You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Masuda Lily and Kazeno Yuuma."

A slight smile forms on his lips at the thought.

He wants to see her in a wedding dress, because it would be frilly and flowery and not suit her at all. She'll be wearing the biggest, stupidest grin on her face and he's certain she'll try to hold back her tears and utterly fail. And he'd love to make fun of her for being a June bride, the very thing she had mocked so fervently once before.

Without hesitation, he circles, "No, I cannot come."

The thing is, she's not _his_ June bride.

* * *

**A/N:**

Well this is a little all over the place. Just wanted to write some unrequited love.

Since they are/can be so different, I can see her being "out of his league" and unintentionally affecting him.

I also ship VY2xLily. Hard. Myguiltypleasures.

Regarding last names, Masuda is Lily's voice provider's surname and Kazeno designed for VY2's boxart.

Anyway, this will probably be the last oneshot I'm posting in a while (despite the fact I have several others started). University is starting soon and I'll be super dead. So, until then!

As per usual, thank you for reading!


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